Is Wyeth "modern?" I'd like to hear the arguments for modern vs. whatever - I mean it's not fantasy, or fantastical but there are hints of certain magical realism (which is the argument for the return to the primitive - a tenet of modernism but is it modern? Modernity?) and flavors of his father's pastel heroicism - everyone is a pirate, everyone is on a treasure hunt. WE all actors on this stage, breaking the fourth wall, leave us kids alone.

Like Pearlstein, though, it is "empty" in a way I identify with modern - lack of sentiment, essentially - or sentiment with nuance (iron, mineral salts).

Pearlstein has this lack of sentiment - his palette is a pure pastel hell that sands down your retina's with pepto bismol until the frosted glass of the psychological picture plane leaves you yearning to wipe a portal into real eighties softcore porn.

California uber alles!

The color in Pearlstein really is that bad. It has a tone, but it's tone is deaf.

Like most mainstream porn, it is too evenly lit, calling your attention to the glossiness of the page (like I give a shit).

Wyeth doesn't do that, he has local color, and shadows, real honest to goodness shadows! How long has it been since I've seen one of those in chelsea?

I think people think shadows are a distancing effect - they draw you into the picture instead of pointing you out of the picture.

Which is more modern?

Is lack of allegory modern? Like when every image is what it is, and the snow on the ground is as alive as the crows in the air.

But facing a figure away, as is done here - or doing full frontal (odalesque) gaze, is modern.

Modern eyes.

If wine can be described as "flinty," then this painting is a black and tan composed of equal parts Guiness, meade and juniper berry liquor.

I like big wines, being youngish. Can you taste the dirt? yes.

Oh but painting your friend's wife is innocent, I mean you are clinical, so it's no more risque than surgery. Except when the model behaves in an unprofessional manner, or shall we say, is an amateur.

How many amateurs are doing it for money?

I'd say, in conclusion, that modern contains many elements of what you would call self-reflexive cinematic time - which is to say modernism is actually a return to the primitive - staring into the fire.

By no means the only artist to be influenced by Wyeth, Peter Doig is cinematic - as are many artists working from photographs, getting stoned and generally having a good time.

I think we’re witnessing a changing of the guard, saying goodbye to the end a generation who achieved fame with America’s ascendency to world prominence in the arts and communications media. Wyeth, Rauschenberg, Hartigan, Conners, Graham and Sharp, so long…

she looks up hill into the uncertainty of the future, past and away from the familiar pastoral or maybe further in to it. it's a very beautiful and solitary painting like most of his works, muted eggshell browns greens creams and blondes. jk rightly acknowledges the passing of this sentiment into the great whirlpool of time.

it's just a term. a big broad one. maybe it got too wide and burst, fracturing into post-modernism and beyond. to me it's kinda silly to ignore the fact that you could call a whole bunch of periods in history modern. the big bubble and all the little fragments are still there to view, preserved in the critical vinegar. in the unending recycle of fashion, its tenets describe various parts of a cultural condition that occurs at various points throughout the epochs, especially when there is a reshaping of the relationship to broader environment. Definitions have to be both rigid and liquid at once. Ice and water. Maybe.. Something like that.

In 1986 a businessman called Leonard Andrews revealed that he had paid an undisclosed sum – said to be several million dollars – for 200 pictures, many of them nude, of a sturdy blonde called Helga Testorf, housemaid to the Kuerners. Wyeth's celebrity, the hint of sex and betrayal (denied by the artist), and the evidence of a 15-year artistic obsession proved an intoxicating cocktail for the press. Both Time and Newsweek put a Helga on their front covers.

I was always iffy about Christina's world, but its actually one of his better works. ;the works profiled in the personal artnet obit didnt really hold up for me. I also think magical realism is a deadly and stultifying term. This painting is pretty good. It seems like wyeth's weakness is overconfidence:overdescription leads to a repitition of succesful motifs and techniques, but this overusage can turn into pastiche if one is not careful. Comparably to Hopper, i dont think he reaches Hopper's level for this reason. This painting is pretty good however. The landscape as a powerful afterthought is quite alive and full of mystery.

Twenty-one poems about young people's ventures into fantasy and unusual adventure.

More detailsRackety-bang: And Other VersesBy Thomas RockwellIllustrated by Gail RockwellPublished by Pantheon Books, 196957 pages

And "How To Eat Fried Worms."

"Because of a bet, Billy is in the uncomfortable position of having to eat fifteen worms in fifteen days. A hilarious story that will revolt and delight bumptious, unreachable intermediate-grade boys and any other less particular mortals that read or listen to it.... Colorful, original writing in a much-needed comic vein."--Booklist.

Yes, the inkwell was there and we used them for a while when we had fountain pens. But the boys kept dipping the girls hair in the inkwells, so that stopped. Then they went to fountain pen cartridges. and from there the fountain pens went away, and they came out with this new fangled ball point pen. Who knew!!!!

Sit with your anger, and its handmaiden, shame. It isn’t real, but you need to know where it comes from. Figure it out, then don’t worry about it too much. “Just hand the apple back,” she writes. “Just unknow. Because you can.”

I looked at Jerry's piece on Wyeth at artnet. That painting they used on the sidebar, On Her Knees, good god that's unpleasant. I used to have this deck of porn playing cards and that was the exact pose they used for the back of the cards, except the woman had her head down. At least helga has her head up, huh? Anyway, I dont begrudge the male gaze, so long as its in its place. Which it never is.

Yeah you look at all the nudes and it's like looking at an artful spread in a photo magazine. Soft core all the way.

Speaking of garden variety voyerism -Webcan fetishist Josh Harris is in the news, - I thought they tried to shop this around a while back - guess they re edited it with better lighning.

"The footage, hours and hours of filmed observation of bunker residents along with recordings of Mr. Harris living with his girlfriend under 24-hour surveillance, sat for years until Ms. Timoner realized that this footage described the world we are all now jacked into.

“It hit me like a bolt of lightning, like no other project I have ever worked on,” she said, sitting next to Mr. Harris outside on an unseasonably warm day. “It was a wired city in a very early stage, and after watching my friends updating their MySpace and Facebook pages, I realized that we had all been there at the start.”

In 1976, reviewing the Metropolitan Museum of Art's Wyeth exhibition, John Russell wrote in the New York Times: "It is really rather odd that a nation which rightly prides itself on its buoyancy of spirit should identify so firmly with an artist whose speciality is the study of wounded or inarticulate figures in an unforgiving landscape."

Well it's either Rachete likin; the blog with Peter Max or Brooklyn haters for Erik Benson. I'll take youth culture/hipster inflected Benson over regio-provincialoso Wyeth and "so eighties it sucks IV" Peter Max at this point.

Erik tries so hard to be Euro-cool but he's a romantik, so the skulls creep in. I think it's all the whisky. Decadence with flop sweat all over it, poor bastard.

Is Erik showing in NYC right now? I saw that his latest work had planes and birds in for the skulls.

I came out of work the other day, and its real cold here, I know that sounds ridiculous, but it's cold for here. I saw these two birds and they were kawing REALLY loud. I thought they were just the usual crows but they kept up this INCREDIBLE squawking. I looked up and they were 2 fucking parrots.

I was just following the breadcrumbs from Roebling hall .... to Black and White, which is a sort of middling gallery in Brooklyn with an ATM branch in Chelsea (not as snooty as Roebling Hall, but Roebling hall wasn't a better gallery I don't think, not from what I've seen - catering to pretention or a slicker Pierogi (meaning the punchlines are not written on the work) - so it's definintely a lateral move, straight across. I mean career wise).

Except 31 grand has a hand in there and that means it could be a good move, though the social dynamics could be pretty retarded. Not that you have to go to the shows of the other artists in the stable, but isn't it considered good form?

6.6 Her bag is on her shoulder. (let me go/i have no truck/it's miles away/where is a young strong saviour)

3.2 Wanting. (what/what/what?)

1.1 Resistance (sick old man/what else is there to do/i'm another famous muse who never speaks)

1.0 Complete staging (wasn't supposed to be read/left it open/whatever)

The more I look at it - creepy. In any case it has many suggestives, and the color of a duck. Quack. What size is it? Don't read a duck, dead duck, old quacker. Can't fly, never did, hated change, obsessed with one way. Buried rhetoric. Muted repression approaching grace. Falling from. Cling close to the classic in the classical shift, futility. Utility.

It's not painted in a language i'm familiar with, maybe I was/just don't want to. Sick shit happens in the isolatation of the rural and nobody knows. Sick shit happens in the abundance of the metropol, and everybody/nobody cares. Hooray for population surveillance. Let us survey Helga's head. Oh, my dear.

wyeth was scathing of most other artists explorations'. especially in abstraction. it's not my opinion to cast him there, he carved himself out a place, fusty wyeth. it's not entirely a bad place, i can almost smell the leather. to bring analysis is a solvent. as it melts under, broad and great in modern conception, the of the land type, monumental at a distance - but the closer you look at the sample, the lumpier it gets. like that dark bit on the left behind her. something creeps in. do you want to know? a great deal of weight has been heaped upon his depiction so as to encompass a wide style of land, life and isolation. it's real poetry no doubt. sick as well. but herculean statements dissuade in myth, as afterthought, can you expect paintings to hold the weight a continent. maybe. i don't say yes or no. i just throw up. they're a part of it surely. i might just be squirting kerosene if you know what i mean. it's been cold.

Death is a cliche. But irrelevence or obselescence is quite fascinating. Re: Wyeth or anybody else. For example, check it out over on Fox news these days. In a blink of an eye, they mean nothing. No power for you, as the Soup Nazi would say. In one day, out the next as Heidi Klum would say. Good riddance to the damned I say. Dustbin o history. Too bad Mr Murdoch did make systemic change. Wonder where it will lead?

Or more directly, what does it say about our culture that we celebrate artists when they die, often the only time they are truly recognized.

Is it for closure? Or because we don;t really care about wyeth and hos golden girls?

Is christina's world wyeth's only good painting?

If you make a good paintign are you obligated to repeat it?

What does t say about us when we require artists to repeat their "masterpiece" over and over?

I could go on.

For example, they are turning the land black in rural america, the deep reservoirs are being used up - b ut before that happens they will become salty, with minerals at the bottom of the - well you know, I drink your milkshake!

I made a new blog ,in the spirit of this one, which i love. I made it when i thought this one was defunct. i hope painter doesn't mind! the difference is it will be for emerging artists, specifically the ones toiling away in Bushwick in those huge cold industrial spaces. there will also be the occasional old piece to talk about. and zipthwung, you and your musings are welcome there.

Back where and when the Wyeths were painting, nothing ever changed. Not just the something that never changes, but everything else too. Years and endless years of it. That's why the repetition and "overdescription" that cookie mentioned.

Frankly I find Wyeth tedious, all that in-your-face technique and bland austerity. It’s not magical realism just prosaic romanticism. What’s the point trying to relate it to modernism or Modernism? It’s traditional to a fault. I remember when the Helga series were first promoted I think there was a book and people were sort of curious about AW’s private life – like there might be something more than the diligent recorder of textures and weathering. But not really – people were really just more crusty specimens to be carefully described, with the odd little flourish to let you know who’s boss. Oooh that technique! Fearlessly describing just another 'physique' - what was her name again?...

That’s why he gets dismissed as an illustrator.

Over on the Art News blog there’s a post about him where a case for his spirituality is made, he’s seen on a par with Rothko or Newman (Barnett rather than Paul or Alfred E.) and I thought about this for a while and decided if so then it’s a pretty mean spiritedness, a repressed and reactionary sort of soul. It’s regionalism for the provincial, hammy anecdote like Christina’s World for those that miss the Saturday Evening Post and think of Oklahoma as opera.

The issue of repetition or theme and variation in an artist’s work is fascinating and complex, but wasted on Wyeth

Running on empty.Chevy levy dry.By byePie.I was born in theBayouThere's a darkness on the edge and there I looked downWrapped up like a deuceThis land is your my landShot a man in renoStand by your manAmericaProud to be an americanEin Svei Drei.

I was in Philly waiting for the bus and there's a self described alcoholic student on the right and a guy in a neck brace on the left.

The alcoholic goes, hey, what happened?

The guy in the neck brace goes, I hurt myself fucking. Pinched a nerve.

I love that shit.

Not like this pissy little namby pamby bullshit for uptight folks (my parents). Oh Helga, what ever are you doing out in the field?

Collecting clover?

Not to say that I want to hear too much information (my parents wisely avoided bars, even Irish ones), but too much information is what goes on, is what all the romantics want when they say they want real, the modern, the human, the primal.

Is it ugly? Well yeah, it is. But it's also the truth. Which is what a lot of art students need to get in touch with, as far as their output (or give up any pretention of being avant guard).

I mean the market sucks, so there's plenty of time for the truth, as opposed to estheticized or ironic reality.

Now wyeth might have a certain flinty realism - but we all know it's romantic cocksucking bullshit as far as most people are concerned. Even for artists, who often never have a bad thing to say about art, so worried they are that the meaningless nihilism real criticism will pop the enchanted kingdom of art.

Wyeth lived in a fantasy world as deep as his old man's.

The same world that thought "Nine to Five" was a feminist's dream.

Now, I'm a hypocrite, but right here I'm providing the rope, and lots of it.

is there protocol here? may I join?webthing, you're the best, I joined to get closer to you.

Egg dries fast and lasts a long time. I have such a hard time thinking in histories... hope the ambivalence of history is real.

She looks like she's staring at a blackboard with lots of things left to do. Or else, here's the will, left in a really bleak prairie.

I once modelled for someone for a year who insisted in sitting on his stool legs spread with balls out to one side, granted it was a hot studio. Amateur. There's a complicitness to the model sitting there for 15 years and being handled vicariously. He just sits there and paints why she complies.

hey andy in this one can you look at my back, so I can make googly eyes? stop looking at my eyelashes

let's have the show already because we are not in love anymore by now and I'm tired of not checking my mail on time ..stop looking at my eyelashes.

It all about how much story we can make in there...with a good lede, you can be left hanging for awhile and if the come-around wrap is clever you forgive (the brain lapse) what they couldn't tell you. so much space to project personal perfection. Is that what models are for, is this what good painting does? yew yew yew...

Good god knows he painted one face a long time. Slow learner or inscrutable vixen? All paint dries out eventually, even the underlayers.

All the rapture there ever was is here in your bodyNowhere else Painters have painted their ways in to bodies since the time we know aboutUnderstanding stances by the tilt of a bone set, looking at the nose and the hairlip, how they join up, twist and reveal the years, I mean the mean setof thought-thoughts of this particular eye-set.What is this surging flies-eyes personality, looking-glass thing we have goin on in computers, in our pictures?How many can you be in so many ways? Real paper letters make this look evil now, the touch of a madman--This letter was touched by a madman! A computer has no prints but what the mind makes.(Dig the gravy!)Real letters would get you to jail.(Who knew Pessoa was the futurist?)But these electronic glibs Splice and dice and grow ourselves big brains--The beauty of brains! The brains make us do it.Like stocks splitting, printing our own credit.Its fine as fine as you feelWe are making of ourselves pets to carry in our pocketsPocket Pals.(Helga was Raggedy Andy's Pocket Pal)Are you ready for this? It's all the rage; it's about Time…Let's go Separate!

Ever live a life that's real Full of zest, but no appeal Ever want to cry so much You want to die Ever feel that you've been had Had so much that you turn mad Ever been depressed that (to) those you turn to, you bring distress Ever sit in tormenting silence That turns so loud, you start to scream Ever take control of a dream And play all the parts and set all the scenes Ever do nothing and gain nothing from it Ever feel stupid and then know that you really are Ever think you're smart and then find out you aren't Ever play the fool and then find out that you're worse Ever look at a flower and hate it Ever see a couple kissing and get sickened by it Ever wish the human race didn't exist And then realize you're one too Well, have you ... ever .. I have So What

You know she really looks my mother from the back. When she was young she would wear her hair like this, same exact color and age I remember her kind of sane. It bothers me this picture for this reason. I must admit. not that this matters a hill of beans--that all images have this vulnerability to each viewer at a time.

There is something precious about these Helgas that is undeniable. The palpability of time he makes here keeps you waiting with her. Isn't there a "wait and see" sentiment that makes this good?

Is this painting theatrical/ because it reminds me of a stage set, the one where you intone your lines before jumping off a cliff of your own making.

"Let it be said ... aaaaeeeeeeeee."

I could not would not eat a shoe.I could not would not chew and chewI could not would not sit it throughNo, not I, not that shoe.

Ever chew your own leg off?Ever catch a wild animal and let it starve to death in your trap because you were out drinking too long?Ever forget to feed the baby?Ever kill a baby with a look?Ever never ever never regretsive had a few, fuck you.no fuck your motherno fuck you and the horsefuck all the horseshey you want in on that action?horse fucking?no.

"that's stupid" he said scornfully, leaving a trail of bile a mile wide in his wake.

You dont leave bile trails anymore, he said.

No im into the new zen thing by force of will. Nothing gets to me, not even the threat of eviction.

I'm through crossing the line, I;m into lines now. One after the other in a gentle modulated tone scritch scritch scritch of the seismograph.Nothing off register. Can't be too crazy or the kids will object.They are networked and have this sort of ambient awareness.

Consider the long drippy earrings,Costume.Before you ask,Come with nothing if you canTo her.Don't remember she is a girl, she is a painter,She is a color, A lesson,A meal, a play,A dress, a mate, a river, a star,A game, a giggler, a twinkle,A mother, a player, a parker, a bather, A coffee, a toast, a morning waker- dinner makerDon't remember you ever kissed her,Don’t remember she was yours or youTouched her anywhere,If you can.Sweat the night's mingle out.Read your paper.Write your this and that.Drink your huge coffee vat.Make your muscle big.Watch some guns, eat some meat.Watch her dressing jiggle.Grab what you see.Try to forgetYou are the heartbreak dangling from her ears.

selling t-shirts:"I'm kin na myself"$29.99 on that pay the palplease support the "common one"

Can you meet me in the countryIn the summertime in EnglandWill you meet me?Will you meet me in the countryIn the summertime in EnglandWill you meet me?We'll go riding up to Kendal in the countryIn the summertime in England.Did you ever hear aboutDid you ever hear aboutDid you ever hear aboutWordsworth and Coleridge, baby?Did you ever hear about Wordsworth and Coleridge?They were smokin' up in KendalBy the lakesideCan you meet me in the country in the long grassIn the summertime in EnglandWill you meet meWith your red robe dangling all around your bodyWith your red robe dangling all around your bodyWill you meet meDid you ever hear about . . .William BlakeT. S. EliotIn the summerIn the countrysideThey were smokin'Summertime in EnglandWon't you meet me down BristolMeet me along by BristolWe'll go ridin' downDown by AvalonDown by AvalonDown by AvalonIn the countryside in EnglandWith your red robe danglin' all around your body freeLet your red robe go.Goin' ridin' down by AvalonWould you meet me in the countryIn the summertime in EnglandWould you meet me?In the Church of St. John . . .Down by Avalon . . . .Holy MagnetGive you attractionYea, I was attracted to you.Your coat was old, ragged and wornAnd you wore it down through the agesAh, the sufferin' did show in your eyes as we spokeAnd the gospel musicThe voice of Mahalia Jackson came through the etherOh my common one with the coat so oldAnd the light in the headSaid, daddy, don't stroke meCall me the common one.I said, oh, common one, my illuminated one.Oh my high in the art of sufferin' one.Take a walk with meTake a walk with me down by AvalonOh, my common one with the coat so oldAnd the light in her head.And the sufferin' so fineTake a walk with me down by AvalonAnd I will show youIt ain't why, why, whyIt just is.Would you meet me in the countryCan you meet me in the long grassIn the country in the summertimeCan you meet me in the long grassWait a minuteWith your red robe . . .Danglin' all around your body.Yeats and Lady Gregory corresponded . . .And James Joyce wrote streams of consciousness books . . .T.S. Eliot chose England . . .T.S. Eliot joined the ministry . . .Did you ever hear about . . .Wordsworth and Coleridge?Smokin' up in KendalThey were smokin' by the lakeside . . .Let your red robe go . . .Let your red robe dangle in the countryside in EnglandWe'll go ridin' down by AvalonIn the countryIn the summertimeWith you by my sideLet your red robe go . . .You'll be happy dancin' . . .Let your red robe go . . .Won't you meet me down by AvalonIn the summertime in EnglandIn the Church of St. John . . .Did you ever hear about Jesus walkin'Jesus walkin' down by Avalon?Can you feel the light in England?Can you feel the light in England?Oh, my common one with the light in her headAnd the coat so oldAnd the sufferin' so fineTake a walk with meOh, my common one,Oh, my illuminated oneDown by Avalon . . .Oh, my common one . . .Oh, my storytime oneOh, my treasury in the sunsetTake a walk with meAnd I will show youIt ain't why . . .It just is . . .Oh, my common oneWith the light in the headAnd the coat so oldOh, my high in the art of sufferin' one . . .Oh, my common oneTake a walk with meDown by AvalonAnd I will show youIt ain't why . . .It just is.Oh, my common one with the light in her headAnd the coat so fineAnd the sufferin' so high . . .All right now.Oh, my common one . . .It ain't why . . .It just is . . .That's allThat's all there is about it.It just is.Can you feel the light?I want to go to church and say.In your soul . . .Ain't it high?Oh, my common oneOh, my storytime oneOh, my high in the art of sufferin' onePut your head on my shoulder . . .And you listen to the silence.Can you feel the silence?

To an American, meanwhile, those early postwar abstract painters (Ernst Wilhelm Nay, for one) look inventive, not escapist. On the other hand Mr. Kiefer, Mr. Baselitz and Beuys, in the name of confronting history, seem to have turned from anarchic acts of constructive mayhem, which usefully rattled complacent Germans at first, increasingly toward works about myth, mysticism and nature: grand themes that sometimes uncomfortably recalled Nazi motifs and diverted their production toward new forms of pompous escapism.

where to start? the idea of a patron doesnt hold as much appeal as a muse these days for a certain set of idiots. oh there are always ways to survive and gourmet salt is nice but doesnt stick around very long, solves to the river with the shit.fame is difficult, power moreso. This stuff doesnt usually inspire better work, but maybe more production, more talent searchers for the assistants to the assistants.

It's grotesque in an attractive to the candy-striper way.

high living is nice and chatty but whole living is something other certainly also kinda difficult. Neil Young said he found himself in the river with the heart of gold so tried to throw himself in a ditch.

but then you know it always comes down to the costs of higher education, the more you see how expensive it is, the more expensive it is. So the non-idiots always win.

I'm gonna say this once and for all for all, idiots and non-idiots alike. You can't smell a painting! Plus we didn't even see the thing properly did we? Loose digital translations...yew sweat at nyet. And then did Wyeth show us the painting he wanted to show us, or just the painting that happened to lying around in painter's hardrive?

It's hard to judge a man's body of work by one painting, it's true, it's true for all involved.

If you can't smell the lizard rapport is fragile.especially when the punctuation of the rectangle (nothing personal, history of painting) is so forlornly inadequate to convey real tone.

Some paintings you don't need to smell to get to the meaning. That post on LondonPainting right now I wouldnt even want to smell on Roots Row.But some you just wish you could cause you know it'd be better/good.

And here I really am talking about structural limitations, not the creative endeavors.

I mean... Wyeth should have at least put a couple of butterfles in that meadow to give us hope, because that meadow, as La previously stated, that meadow is bleak. For God sakes a body can't even tell whether it's day or night.

yeah but it seems like thats the way they do it these days. i mean all my single friends do internet dating and then they wonder why they get all these shitty dates. i recommend hittin on people that smell good, follow them on the street. thats how i met my husband -on the street. so glad i was drunk and he talked to me...

Okay everyone, back to work. There’s nothing more to see here. We’ve all been stimulated enough for one package. I knew you would come through for me, you don’t know how much it means. ‘The price of everything and the value of nothing?’ Pshaw! What greater duty can there be than protecting one’s own kind, first? Looking after the trade, the calling, the blood, brother and the next in line, can you dig it? We have earned this by a silver ballot followed by a stake straight to heart of a mass gravy train to heaven and all stations east. Oh yes. So prepare to move on, if you start to cry, I’ll walk on by. Now that we have helped you shed your homes and jobs, that should be easy. Welcome to the desert with no name, the natives without reservations.

Pretend we’re strangers when we meet.

Our isolationist heritage is preserved and we can safely turn our backs on the bright lights, big city, embrace the shadows of vacant real estate and regionalist angst. You know you want to. What’s that? You’re sick with love and fain would lie down? Is there a Dulles doctrine the house? Is this a ghost I see before me? A union made in hell if not the south. Don’t let the son go down on the help, shine a light on me, dream of a peasantry convinced of pleasantry. Take that to the bank and beow-chikka-wah-wah yessir I can boogie.

Speaking as one dedicated to the fine arts, including self-preservation, I’d just like to say this business as usual doesn’t mean we can’t have fun in numbers, right? And we’re talking big numbers. Sure one man’s bailout is another’s protectionism, but what do you know about competition, beauty and a bailout made in heaven anyway? Grace under pressure? Oh you don’t know the half of it – blonds in bondage, contracted to the land – hey I’ve lived those fantasies, on the inside and trading up, a holiday homeland where neighbors are the biggest enemy. I call it self reservation. You know what I love about America? It’s so private.

“This is an emergency, If I would have known they didn’t have McNuggets, I wouldn’t have given my money, and now she wants to give me a McDouble, but I don’t want one,” Latreasa L. Goodman told police. “This is an emergency.”

i feel for Latreasa. I really do. The world is fucked up and who is gonna help you? my friend randy was an emt and he said girls would call the ambulance when they had a bad period. i mean who the fuck will HELP you?

he made a loud stink that the director was "pathetic" among other things, because there were no shuttles (oops) as advertised even though collectors take cars and besides there were plenty of bigwigs coming through in a down market. I heard plenty of people lost money in Miami. I heard people are in it for the art, now, because that's what they got into it in the first place for, was the art. I heard (from my mom) that the ecomonmy is going to be in the shitter for 10 years. I heard I'm going to get paid. I heard facebook is great. I heard Facebook is stupid. I heard kanye is into his new "datamoshing" video. I saw some other people doing this a while ago, funny how people thik they cant do something if it's been done. I can fake this look using displacement maps and such, such as.

it's funny coz my old dvd player could do it all by itself on occasion. who invented the error read? nobody. freak occurrence.

but i think takeshi re-did it best, still to this day. everyone else can crossover and possibly emulate, but some just do it better. that's how it works. it's like anyone could do a drip painting, or can they?

Sometimes it’s hard to see the work for the labels, sometimes it’s hard to see the labels for the work. Neither is helpful. When I get overwhelmed by labels I know I need to look away and take a rest. When I get lost in a work, I know I’m not working hard enough.

But who gets to strike the happy balance every time?

No, we don’t want ‘poetry’ or ‘art’ if we can’t get past the inverted commas, but we flounder with the work that doesn’t relate, reference without enough reference.

It’s like when artists go on about ‘testing boundaries’, and then when their work is rejected complain about ‘intolerance’. Well you can’t have a test, if you’re not prepared to accept failure as a possibility. But they really want it both ways – to boldly go beyond public standards, and for the public to accept them.

Everyone loves the idea of being a pioneer, except for the part about hardship.

It’s the same with labels. We want them to apply to a comfortable bulk of works, to be comprehensive, but we love the idea of the work that doesn’t fit. Which is more important - making the label or breaking it?

If we need reference in a work, and the test fails and there is no reference, what then? fail and wait, and burn. If the test succeeds and there is reference, and also failure, and seventeen other parables? succeed and fade, and float. Jazz. If the test succeeds and there is reference, and little else? Purchased now, lost later.

Some commerical and independent gallerists are moving towards educucational models. That used to happen more in museums. Is it because:

A. They need the income B. A bona-fide lesson secures a real buyer more than dinner & 2 bottles of moet used to.C. Money can't talk at the moment.D. We're in for a good thinking.E. They genuinely want to advance public understanding.

Great times ahead, i'm serious. Temper that hedon and absorb the pain, we're back on the building blocks now that the balloons are burst, Damien Burst. Fail and sail.

I'm not so good tutoring art. (i get the narrative mixed up but I can talk shop all day)

And Honestly, how can you compete with the reams of shit already written?

Make a cosmology so dense and ironic it's indecipherable as anything but poetry. Oh but you, you get it because you are smart.

On the other hand, if you are trying to engage with the institutional critique model, there seems to be either no learning curve (its a punk party in the man's house everybody!) or a very ironicly steep learning curve (I mean the institution of institutional critique defending it's teritory from upstart critiquers)

But Jazz standards can go out there and then come back. I like that model despite the obvious problems comparing visual art to jazz as most people know it.

One thing though - some people like lyrical stuff, and some people like smearing shit on the walls. I have a hard time differentiating the two beasts in the wild - often a two backed one with fangs.

I guess what I'm saying is I'm no dealer, just a nerd with a world most collectors would find disapointing without serious stage craft.

I talked about my shoes to the last strangers I met - one of whom was kind enough to comment that they had had the same pair. I mean they were real pros.

you will never go wrong discussing shoes. my brother found himself sitting next to diana ross one night (backstage at the grammys, my bro was working) and he said to her, nice shoes, and they talked for an hour.

...your world is all you have, insight and confidence rather than stagecraft is perhaps what WT is saying.

jeez i have no concern about how its done. or who actually did it first. or that it means "glitches" im just interested in what it signifies. cultural time and place. just sayin black men know a lot about crossing over, as do we all. where you stand, who you are. dying on the mountain. all that. arcades and barricades.

Carbon created this award-winning campaign to reinforce the leadership of Robitussin®, while also demonstrating its powerful cough and congestion relief. The campaign showcases the brand’s deep-rooted relief, with tree roots representing not only the product’s 50-year heritage, but also the lungs that Robitussin® clears of congestion, reassuring healthcare professionals that they can confidently recommend Robitussin® to their patients.

BUTTE, Mont. (AP) -- A small plane crashed Sunday as it approached an airport in Montana, killing 17 people, including several children, a Federal Aviation Administration spokesman said.

Nick is a feckless television salesman who gets fired and impulsively decides that he and his girlfriend, Beth, will move to Butte, MT, which he's read is "the city of the future." "I read that a while ago, so the future should be there by now," he enthuses.

Hey Jerry throws lisa yuskavage under the bus in NYMag. It's good to be the king huh? she dont need him. looks like jerry is approaching irrelivancy more than yuskavage. he says lisa knows too much while he jumps on the bandwagon with the terminally confused...well whats a baby boomer to do?

Im sympathetic to Jerrys predicament. It's hard to feel joy when youre old. At best you might feel some satisfaction which is not far from smugness and hard to justify or play out gracefully. However hard earned. So you careen around looking for a messy thrill. In this case knowing something becomes a negative. Rooting around in the muck and the mire is again exciting but hello, East Village 1980. Not so new, even with the conceptual tacked on it.

As per Cold War Kids:

Careless in our summer clothes splashing aroundin the muck and the mireCareless in our summer clothes splashing aroundin the muck and the mire

fell asleep with stainscake deep in the kneeswhat a pain

now hang me up to dryyou wrung me outtoo too too many timesnow hang me up to dryI'm pearly like the whitesthe whites of your eyes

all mixed up in the washhot water bleeding our colorsall mixed up in the washhot water bleeinding our colors

I always had the impression he endorsed LY (+ Currin, R.Ackermann, R.Lowe, etc) in the early 90s, but maybe my memory fails me. And now he needs to put that behind him in order to see something new. No sweat. We all shift allegiances from time to time.

What will the new thing be? I think pretty obviously it's going to be more social or political, rather than private, sex and fashion issues. The times are a-pressing. But beyond that it’s hard to know what the formal issues will be. I hope we don’t go back to Neo-Ex, but I get the feeling everyone’s sick of the art history pastiche and virtuosity trip and may go primitive, if only to flirt with abstraction. There’s plenty of that around anyway, (see Saatchi’s Abstract America) but nothing that really bites yet. At least not to me.

But if I were a critic intent on forward scouting, that’s where I’d be looking.